Gun Story #2 (The Real Shotgun)
The first gun story is here
Here's the second one:
I was friends with Jeff.
I may have been Jeff's only friend.
So it surprised me when he started messing with me one day after school.
This is the guy I stuck up for. Jeff was the kid even the kids that weren't liked disliked. And he had the audacity to pick on his sole friend.
It pissed me off.
So I took him to the ground, and everybody started yelling, "FIGHT!!!"
I wasn't about to fight Jeff, though. He was, like I said, a friend.
I let him up, and he kept messing with me. So I took him down again.
And again...
And again...
Each time, the crowd that was following us wanted a fight.
I had no idea what Jeff was hoping for by messing with me (hitting me from behind, calling me names...stuff like that...). But it kept up until he pissed me off enough that one of the times I took him down and he kept hitting me, that I hit him back.
It scared the crap out of him, and he wiggled free and started to run.
Something snapped inside of me. Here was a guy who had been hitting me, calling me names, and even spitting at me--and he was running away. He'd hit me hard enough that some switch flipped inside me and I wanted to take him down and beat the shit out of him. Seeing him running only made me want to hurt him more.
Jeff made it to his house before I could catch him. I charged onto his front porch and went to open the door. It was locked.
I was friends with Jeff and knew that his bedroom window was almost always open, and that climbing in and out using some pipes protecting wires that ran up the corner of his house by his bedroom was a way in.
I climbed the side of his house and went in through his bedroom window.
That's when Jeff appeared in the doorway with his father's shotgun.
Pointed directly at me!
I tried calming Jeff down; there was a very strange look in his eye.
"Come downstairs," he said.
I followed him downstairs--he no longer had the gun on me.
In the living room, he pointed the shotgun at me again.
"Go outside."
I unlocked the door and went onto the porch.
He slowly walked toward me, the shotgun leveled at me the entire time.
The crowd that had followed us to Jeff's house freaked. Some people took off, while others got out of the area directly behind me (probably hoping Jeff would pull the trigger so they could see what somebody getting shot looked like).
I walked down the stairs and backed into the yard.
Jeff came all the way out, making sure everybody knew he had a shotgun in the house, and that if he was willing to use it to back his only friend out of the house, what would he do with them if they picked on him ever again?
He went back inside the house and the crowd broke up. A couple people told me I should have kicked his ass when I had a chance.
Jeff and I never talked about the shotgun incident. We stopped hanging out with each other shortly after that. The last time I saw Jeff was when he traded me a pair of boxing gloves for a bunch of Star Wars figures, a couple of my Dad's dirty magazines Dad wouldn't miss, and a big jar of catfish bait.
I made friends with a kid down the street who never pointed a shotgun at me and was willing to spend hours in his front yard boxing. I moved back to Illinois at the end of that summer and never saw Jeff again...
Here's the second one:
I was friends with Jeff.
I may have been Jeff's only friend.
So it surprised me when he started messing with me one day after school.
This is the guy I stuck up for. Jeff was the kid even the kids that weren't liked disliked. And he had the audacity to pick on his sole friend.
It pissed me off.
So I took him to the ground, and everybody started yelling, "FIGHT!!!"
I wasn't about to fight Jeff, though. He was, like I said, a friend.
I let him up, and he kept messing with me. So I took him down again.
And again...
And again...
Each time, the crowd that was following us wanted a fight.
I had no idea what Jeff was hoping for by messing with me (hitting me from behind, calling me names...stuff like that...). But it kept up until he pissed me off enough that one of the times I took him down and he kept hitting me, that I hit him back.
It scared the crap out of him, and he wiggled free and started to run.
Something snapped inside of me. Here was a guy who had been hitting me, calling me names, and even spitting at me--and he was running away. He'd hit me hard enough that some switch flipped inside me and I wanted to take him down and beat the shit out of him. Seeing him running only made me want to hurt him more.
Jeff made it to his house before I could catch him. I charged onto his front porch and went to open the door. It was locked.
I was friends with Jeff and knew that his bedroom window was almost always open, and that climbing in and out using some pipes protecting wires that ran up the corner of his house by his bedroom was a way in.
I climbed the side of his house and went in through his bedroom window.
That's when Jeff appeared in the doorway with his father's shotgun.
Pointed directly at me!
I tried calming Jeff down; there was a very strange look in his eye.
"Come downstairs," he said.
I followed him downstairs--he no longer had the gun on me.
In the living room, he pointed the shotgun at me again.
"Go outside."
I unlocked the door and went onto the porch.
He slowly walked toward me, the shotgun leveled at me the entire time.
The crowd that had followed us to Jeff's house freaked. Some people took off, while others got out of the area directly behind me (probably hoping Jeff would pull the trigger so they could see what somebody getting shot looked like).
I walked down the stairs and backed into the yard.
Jeff came all the way out, making sure everybody knew he had a shotgun in the house, and that if he was willing to use it to back his only friend out of the house, what would he do with them if they picked on him ever again?
He went back inside the house and the crowd broke up. A couple people told me I should have kicked his ass when I had a chance.
Jeff and I never talked about the shotgun incident. We stopped hanging out with each other shortly after that. The last time I saw Jeff was when he traded me a pair of boxing gloves for a bunch of Star Wars figures, a couple of my Dad's dirty magazines Dad wouldn't miss, and a big jar of catfish bait.
I made friends with a kid down the street who never pointed a shotgun at me and was willing to spend hours in his front yard boxing. I moved back to Illinois at the end of that summer and never saw Jeff again...